My dog Frances (1999-2008)

I know, Jim. I had a cat who meant more to me than anything in the world. She died, but sometimes if I turn a corner really fast, I can see her sometimes ... in her favorite place in the whole house. The bathtub.

Well, she was a weird cat, what can I say? I loved her, though.

So sorry :( My sincerest condolences! I have two and I can't even imagine what the mood is going to be like here in 10 years or so when its their time to go. :(

I read your scanners daily Mr. Emerson, and I found them always insightful and entertaining, when I found out that you were a dog lover and a movie lover, I think I enjoyed you even more.

My dog was Buster who died about three years ago, he was my best friend and also saved my life. My parents were divorced when I got out of high school, and the first girlfriend I ever had dumped me not soon after, it may sound superficial but I never felt more alone, adn Buster was the only thing I could count on. He was a coker spaniel, he used to defend me when I was younger when my older brother would pound on me. He would always be by my window when I came home from school. When he got older, he lost his hearing, but he always knew right away when I walked in the door. I had 13 wonderful years with Buster, we grew up together.

I'm very sorry for your loss, I can understand what you're going through, that kind of loyalty is hard to come by.

My condolences, Jim. Worst day of my life was the day we had to put down our beloved golden retriever.

It's hard to get perspective right now. My whole world is different than it was yesterday. I feel I've had a few soul mates (whatever that means) in my life -- and Frances is one of them. Taught me more about living with people, and living in the present, than any human being I've ever known. And all she did was be who she was.

I'm sorry, Jim. My condolences.

My cat, Minion, died about 3 weeks ago. She was 19. I am 30, and had known this cat for most of her life and most of mine. It was a sad day, she was sick, I knew I had to put her down, out of her misery, and then she died. I will miss her, and I still hear her voice from time to time out of the corner of my ear. She's the only cat I ever had that I just knew could talk, and I still hear her. My heart is with you Jim, best of luck, and best wishes.

Hi, Jim,

I'm so sorry for your loss. I know exactly what you mean by soul mates. My childhood dog died in 2005. She was with me my whole life, practically; from about age five to 22. We grew up together. She died around the same time as my grandfather, and no one understood why I shed more tears for my dog. It wasn't a love or respect issue. It was that she was with me through it all. She understood me when no one else did, and, like you observed about your late dog, she did so just by being her.

My thoughts are with you during this tough time.

About five years back, I lost my first dog, who was 13. I was in a funk from that for several weeks, and it was doubly hard whenever people tried to say something to the effect of "oh, well, it just a dog, you'll get another". Those of us who know the connection one can have with their dog share your pain. Be well.

Ah, hell, Jim. I'm so sorry.

Hi Jim, my condolences. The passing of Frances brought to mind "Charlotte's Web." Even in death, I guess, life goes on.

This may sound non sequiturial or even beside the point, but did she have puppies when she was alive?

Jim, Frances looks like she was such a sweetie. I know the feeling was mutual with you. You saved her life & she returned the favor.

People who aren't dog lovers don't understand the depths of love we can have for our fur babies. They love us unconditionally, don't play mind games and give us companionship.

I totally understand what you are going through. Having dogs all my life (I now have 4), there have been a few really special ones that were my soul mates. I still miss them every day but am so grateful they were in my life.

I'm really sorry for your loss!

Jim,

I'm so sorry for your loss. My deepest condolences. I know what you mean about your dog being a soulmate. I was given a black lab puppy when I was 9 years old, and when I had to hold him as he was put down 13 years later, I truly felt as if I was holding my brother, and I burst out into tears in a way I never had before, or have since.

It's a loss of someone who had guided me through my teenage years, been spontaneous, joyous, respectful, playful, mature when I was being immature, immature when I was being too serious.

It's a loss that won't stop hurting, but, and I know this is a cliche, the best remedy is to think back to the great times you've had with your dog, or if you can, go through some photographs or videos of you and your dog.

R.I.P. Jim's dog Frances, my dog Brian, and all the other animals (and people) of this world who enrich people's souls merely through their existence.

I'm so sorry. I've always had an overwhelmingly strong emotional connection to the gentler furry companions in my life and the last one I lost was heartbreaking. I cried and cried. My cat now is lovable and goofy and I can't imagine losing her. I don't think a lot of people understand how an animal becomes a companion, not a pet, and how they become your family. I am very sorry to hear this Jim.

I've read about how much she meant to you on this very blog. Like many of the other commentators I've had to part with an animal recently, and while I didn't have the connection you seemed to have with Frances, I can sympathize and I offer my condolences.

Ha-ha--there's the smile of a dog who knows they get to sit on the furniture! Attagirl! Good dog. Good life.

That you're able to articulate the value of your dog's effect on your life means that there's a seed of positive in your feelings right now. Allow that to grow and nurture you in the days ahead. Know that your life has been blessed to have this old soul in your life, and remember how little it took to make Frances happy...and how she communicated it to you.

Lesson taught, lesson learned.

And as that, she'll never go away. Ever.

Long live Frances.

Sorry about the loss of your dog.

All: Thanks for the kind words about Frances. I just felt I had to acknowledge her here, because she's been at my side for everything I've written here, except when I was on the road...

Jim, thank you for sharing your loss with all of us. I see a little of her in your face and a little of her in yours. She was a beautiful dog. Now a little of her will stay with me: the bright eyes, large black nose, great smile, inquisitive ears and the cute tufts coming up from her legs. I'm so glad that you found each other.

I know what you're going through. My family and I had to put our youngest dog down in January of this year. I still miss him. I can't imagine how painful it will be when the other two have to go. My condolences.

Oh God, Jim. I'm so so sorry.

Mate. So sorry for you loss.

My most sincere condolences. I myself lost two of my oldest animals (a cat I had for 14 years and a dog I had for 7) within a week of each other, so I certainly feel your pain. And how right you are, words simply can't describe the hole in your heart than the death of an animal leaves. There is something so pure in their companionship, so honest about their friendship, that it feels just like losing a family member. Again, I'm very sorry about the loss of your friend. I know there is no replacing a pet, but the best thing you can do is go rescue another poor, caged animal; there are far too many in cages. Every time I go in an animal shelter I want to cry, I just want to take them all home.

They say a lot of animals die before a cold winter. I know lots of people who have lost animals recently. I think it's going to be a miserable God damn winter.

My beloved 13-year-old dog Daisy is declining daily, and I know our time together is very limited. She was also a rescued mix breed, but she is the one that rescued me. I adopted her as a companion during the worst period of my life, and she has seen me through the deaths of friends and family, through my own illness, through a broken engagement and my inability to have children. So I understand how surreal it must be to wake up and face the day without Frances. I'm truly sorry for your loss, and I hope in time you will again find the peace that she brought you. Dogs are truly perfect creatures.

I'm so sorry. I've had my dog Murphy for 2 years; I wasn't sure what to expect but he has been a joy--silly, seemingly deadly serious about the smallest things, inquisitive. He's something else, and I'm sure it'll be hard when the day comes. But it's always worth it.

I'm sorry.

I guess I should also buckle down and share something of my own:

I remember my golden retriever, who we named Teddy, because he looked like a Teddy Bear when he was only a pup. In his final year we bought two dachshund puppies, who were mere slippers in comparison to the size he had finally grown to, and I'm afraid that their presence kind of bothered him, or made him feel as though he were being replaced.

Teddy was pitifully weak at this point in his life. Whenever he wanted to get up, he'd jiggle his hind legs and claw at the ground to gain traction, which was usually the signal for me to stop what I was doing and raise him up off the ground by placing my arms around his waist and heaving him onto all fours. I remember when he finally found climbing the stairs to be too much. The lights were off, and all I could see were his eyes glowing in the dark, watching me from the bottom of the stairs. I couldn't imagine letting him sleep alone, so I carried this massive dog to the top floor--which you can imagine wasn't very easy.

Teddy's death was merciful, and I'm just glad that the veterinarian had the courtesy of coming to our house so that he could be put down in our backyard, near the flower garden. I've had two cats who were put to sleep at the vet, and one who died of shock on the way there--of an unknown cause that we are still unable to fathom to this day, since it came so urgently and without time to take him to the vet for a checkup.

I used to think the death of a pet was a primer for the loss of another human being. But I've realized that they have something in common: their deaths don't affect others nearly as much as those who knew them, but the feeling is something we can all understand, which is why I'm sorry for your loss.

You never forget the great ones.

From The Nitty Gritty Dirt Band's "Mr. Bojangles:"
"He danced for those at minstrel shows and county fairs
throughout the south
He spoke through tears of 15 years how his dog and him
traveled about
The dog up and died, he up and died
And after 20 years he still grieves"

Sincerely, my condolences.

I'm sorry for your loss.

I had to euthanize my cat General a year and a half ago. I still miss him all the time. I understand what you're going through.

“You think dogs will not be in heaven? I tell you, they will be there long before any of us”

- Robert Louis Stevenson

*hugs*

When the time is right, make a pact with yourself, a pact to smile before you cry, to laugh before you hurt, every time, just a little, just enough. A fine being like Frances deserves it. The smiles will grow longer, the hurt will soften. To smile, to laugh, build monuments with these . . .

I had a cat die back in June. He was a miserable, long haired cat, scared of everything, always hiding, rarely coming out to eat. He got sick. We took him to the vet and for a while longer he was better, but he drifted away again and there was little we could do but let him go. We'd had him since he was a kitten (way back in 1994). He wasn't our favorite cat, exactly (hard to feel a lot of affection for a cat when it's continually tucked in the farthest corner of the room, under the largest piece of furniture), but my family loves animals, so we missed him anyway. We still miss him, but we're glad he isn't miserable or afaid anymore. We've gotten another cat, another kitten, since, and she's wonderful. She has a million toys scattered throughout the house and she's always carrying them around in her mouth and setting them down and meowing to be played with. She hasn't taken the place of our other cat; rather, she's made her own place.

You might not ever again have a dog like Frances, Jim, but that's actually not a bad thing. Dogs (pets in general) shouldn't be the same. There wouldn't be anything to remember about them if they were. Chances are, you'll get another dog (terrible words, at the moment, I'm sure) that you will like just as much, even if it's not in the same way.

I am so sorry for your loss.

Sorry to hear about the loss of your beloved Frances, Jim.

My family dog passed away about five years ago. She was a mix of West Highland White Terrier, and Maltese, named Teddy. She was found by a neighbour prior to being given to us, and had such a strong fear of (riding in) cars that we suspect she had been thrown out of one by her previous owner. She was quite the mischief in her early years, but quiet and gentle from them on. She developed various ailments with her eyes in her later years, and was virtually blind by the time one of her eyes ruptured. We couldn't let her live like that (we'd had her for 13 years, and suspect she was two years old when we got her), so we had to put her to sleep.

Two years or so after her passing, we got a new puppy, about three months old, which we named Lucy. She's a reddish-coloured mix of Border Terrier and Chihuahua, and way more laid-back than you'd expect a Chihuahua to be. She's fast, and given to bursts of energy, but good luck getting her to go for a lengthy walk!

Anyways, one dog doesn't replace the other in your heart, but given enough time, I'm sure you'll find another dog who can partially fill the role that Frances played in your life.

Best wishes.

Jim--I'm so sorry to hear about Frances. She was a very good girl and a good friend.

My deepest condolences, Jim. I've had to put three of our beloved dashchunds down in the past year and a half, and it hurts like hell every single time.

Hang in there Jim. I know how you're feeling right now. Our family dog was struck by a car and died on July 19, 2008. It was easily the worst day of my life, he was only six. I'm not sure what Frances circumstances were, or if you had to make that gut-wrenching last trip to the vet. If that was the case, take comfort knowing you had the opportunity to say goodbye and that she passed peacefully. I think about our dog Bob every day, and I would give anything for just 5 more minutes with him so that we could run around the back yard like we did, play fetch, and so that I could thank him for being such a good dog and tell him how important he was to our family.

Take care....

My deepest sympathies to you, Jim. I lost my dog, Sadie, in June. I still think about her all the time. It still hurts, but in some way I found comfort and understanding in these words by Percy Bysshe Shelley: "Men do well to mourn the dead because it proves that we love something besides ourselves."

Take Care

Jim, I am so very sorry for your loss. I hope that at least you are surrounded by friends who know what it is to have such a close relationship with a pet and can understand your grief. I had to euthanize my beloved dog, Ladybug, in June, and it still tears at my heart. We really were kindred spirits--I felt like each of us brought out strengths in each other. I still miss her, and I miss being the person she helped me to be. I hope that your memories of happy times with Frances will ease your sorrow and bring you comfort.

My dog Biff passed away 2 weeks ago on my birthday. I do not know what I am going to do it hurts me so much. He was the world to me.

This will be a sincere stream of consciousness:

I see a cat in my cognitive playground that was known to me and I still know, as it has ensnared my heart and mind, even in his death. Why did I just call him "it" earlier? His name was Sox or Socks (none of my family ever spelled it out) and he was a free-loving thing...family member...in the greatest of the greatest sense of "Gates of Heaven" fashion. This was before Clinton ever thought about having a pet dubbed after foot attire. This goes much deeper. He looked like a bobcat; however he was far from the wild-tempered and dungeon-clawed felines that gracefully prowl the wilderness.

Instead, he shuffled. He made the ebb have its flow. He was a furry James Dean in his younger years, the comic strip Garfield in middle-age, and Orson Welles in "Chimes at Midnight" in his latter days. How I miss him so. Such a vivid memory I have, yet so brittle. Such colorful dreams I have, yet so black and white. What a bond I had with friends in high school and in college, yet so frail compared to growing up with Sox or Socks. Sometimes you need to look into another species' being to realize the true meaning of your humanity.

He never spoke any words that I understood or performed any actions that I misunderstood. He smiled with a squint of his eyes. He only scratched me with his claws when he was stretching-such an involuntary and innocent act, however, my flaw of anger and the sensation of pain made me swat at him that one and only time. Giovanni Ribsi's character in "Saving Private Ryan," when talking about a past moment (a lost moment, but so evident) says, "I don't know why I did that." Let me repeat: How I miss him so.

My young brain saw his jaws like a lion's that had been amplified by the enhancement oil steroid users take-however; he could not be more authentic. His claws reminded me of Freddy Krueger's finger knives-however, he was gentle as the mice he would catch and play with on the lawn. His belly was as big as my mind's image of Santa Claus'. He was my buddy. And for much of his seasoned time, I enjoyed his companionship as I hope he enjoyed mine. Maybe we bridged the gap between human and feline and raised the standard up another notch.

I knew eventually that he had to depart, damn those commercial flights. It was like the George Carlin theory of getting a "small tragedy" when you have a pet. That's so true. Yet, it goes further, digs deeper: Do we not sense tragedies to come with our parents or other, older loved ones. Makes me want to go: Come on, death, why do you have to be so gung-ho all the time? Slow down, you'll win eventually.

Being the outdoor cat that he was, Sox or Socks rose up like Vito Corleone in "The Godfather." I kid you not. He ruled our block with an iron but just fist. Never once did I see him pick a fight with other cats, but only defend staked turf against dogs and people (even losing a toe in the process, AKA, “They hit ‘em with five shots and he’s still alive!”). As gentle as he was towards his FAMILY, whether it be feline or human, he could turn on a fanged dime if the cause was right. His mother was named Shoes, believe it or not. Strange but fitting. Sox or Socks struck me as a buddy who would have laughed at such irony if he had understood what irony meant. His aunt, Shoes' sister, was named Blue. She was snow white. Why was she called “Blue” then? Look closer and you would have seen a gold eye and a blue eye staring back at you.

As much as I loved Shoes, I had more of an attachment to Blue. The aunt feline had given birth to stillborns when I was very young. Just so happened, I was the one that witnessed such an occurrence. Watching television, I heard her shrieking howl. Unbeknownst to my young self, certain precautions had to be taken for animal births. I had no idea how to handle Blue’s sudden parental condition. She had, as I remember, four kittens. They all died. After that, Blue was never the same. It sounds odd or melodramatic. It just sounds true to me. Later, Shoes had Sox or Socks and life continued.

Every night we let him in, when he chose to wander back to his homestead. He represented freedom with a choice of being savage or civil and he chose the middle lane. Did he remember his mother, Shoes, in the days of his cancer which heralded in his doom? Would Blue ever cross his mind from time to time? A fight over this or that? Yet, the wild of a Mississippi neighborhood grew on him like a suit of medieval armor. He never was declawed. He never was "fixed." Who knows how many bobcat-like gladiators are out there now in 2008 on that Mississippi Delta block? As I visit back to my stomping grounds, with my thankfully still-alive parents, I look out the window from time to time and I see cats with slightly orange and brown fur. On occasion, I will even go out (whether cold or hot) and try to call them over and see if my buddy still lingers. And if I hear the right “meow,” I can convince myself that he does.

A few years back I lost Chester, an adult cat who had been cruelly abandoned and insisted(!) that I adopt him. I'm crying now, writing this, from missing him. He was only a cat but, again, he wasn't. I often forget the sadness, but it never goes away. I never want to feel more sadness than this.

I hope you take a few moments to explore the website for people who have lost their pets, www.rainbowsbridge.com.

Particularly moving are the poems and stories section.

Please tell me what you think of it. I actually think it is worthy of a lengthy posting by you. It is guaranteed to provoke intense mixed feelings in everyone who visits.

Jim,

Rich and I both send our condolences. We know well the loss you are feeling. Frances looks like a dog for all seasons and one whose eyes were filled with unconditional love and understanding. We're so glad you had her as long as you did.

Linda

Jim,
I don't know you but I know what you're going through. My 13-year old yellow lab "Duke" had to be euthanized Nov.23 evening. This was very hard for me because I am a vet and I had to do it myself. He had a tumor on his spleen which ruptured suddenly causing him to bleed internally. Having seen this in other old dogs too many times over the years, I knew what was happening to him and I knew that I couldn't fix the problem. He was euthanized at home, with the family around him. Our young Golden Retriever seems lost too. It takes time, but we move on with their memory and be thankful that they had a full life.
Dr. Matt

I am an older man who has lost all family including my son. I lost "Juneau" on 4/08 after 13 years. He was the best friend I ever had and I treated him as such. I am so sorry for your loss.

I will always miss him dearly. Sometimes we just get lucky and hook up with the right dog.

After 8 months, I finished my written tribute to him. I don't know what it is about dogs but I do know only a few are selected to understand it.

We are the lucky ones only because we learned something from them that humans are incapable to teach and we got it!

My best to you. My memories are happy entwined with a few tears.

.......Ron